Sneakers
by HYPERFocused
Summary: My father has decided I'm no longer a Luthor" ... It was all Clark could do not to speed down the stairs and wrap Lex in his arms. slash


Disclaimer: I don't own any Luthors, any Kents, or even any Kryptonian pods. Nor have I any claim on the writers or producers of Smallville, whether they be humans or badly trained monkeys.  
  
This is for Alax, who was in need of some h/c fic. The title is for Slodwick's Stephen King Title Challenge.  
  
***  
  
The usual nighttime activities at the Kent household were a mix of the merry, and the mundane. Most evenings, Martha would be trying out a new recipe -- cookies, or muffins, or Clark's favorite -- pie.  
  
Jonathan would be tinkering with some rusty piece of farm equipment, or watching the Sharks game, with half an ear listening for the oven timer.  
  
And Clark could usually be found doing his homework at the breakfast nook, hoping for an errant treat from his mother. He wasn't above using his super-speed to sneak a tollhouse cookie or two.  
  
Lex's appearance at the Kent's kitchen door, late one particular weeknight, had been like a scene from one of Clark's fantasies. He'd looked a little soft; vulnerable, and definitely unsure of his welcome. Not his usual self-deprecation-mixed-with-confidence, but a rueful half-smile that said "you probably don't want me either."  
  
"My father has decided I'm no longer a Luthor." Lex said. "He's left me with nothing, not even a place to live. So I was wondering...if I could stay with you for a while."  
  
It was all Clark could do not to speed down the stairs, and wrap himself around Lex. Instead, he shot his best reassuring smile at him, and waited while his parents decided what to do. Of course, he'd find a way for Lex to stay, no matter what his father said.  
  
"Of course you can stay, Lex," his mother said, giving her husband a look that said she would brook no arguments. Clark beamed at Lex, zooming out the door to bring in his things -- what little there was.  
  
Martha brought in the plate of cookies, and passed them around while Lex updated them on the latest Luthorian goings on.  
  
"*God*, Lex, your father is a fumffking mmbfstard" Clark said, around a mouthful of sugar cookie."  
  
Jonathan wasn't sure whether to call him on the talking with his mouth full, or the language. Ultimately he decided a generic admonishing "Clark!" would do.   
  
"Oh, honey, how awful, " Martha said. "And even worse to suddenly have a sibling after all these years, but to find there's no love between you. I can only imagine how Clark would feel...."  
  
"Yeah, Mom, Lucas is no prize. Obviously Lex got all the *good* genes." Clark blushed. Maybe he shouldn't have put it quite that way. It was true, though. Lex was beautiful, and his diminished circumstances did nothing to change that.  
  
Jonathan reached up into the coat closet, and brought out the better of Clark's two sleeping bags. Clark was grateful it wasn't the one he had ripped open during a particularly vivid (read: embarrassing) dream when he was thirteen.   
  
"I'm sorry this isn't what you're used to, Lex" Jonathan said, tossing the bag to him. "This isn't the Ritz." Clark could tell his father was amused at the idea of Lex slumming. He wasn't going to complain, though. At least Lex wouldn't be all the way downstairs in the guest room. He'd be just a few feet away, where Clark could listen to him breathe, and know he was all right. Not quite close enough, but probably as close as they were going to get while his parents were nearby.  
  
"No, Mr. Kent. This is wonderful. I'd much rather be someplace normal where I'm wanted, than somewhere I'm coddled because of my name. "  
  
"You're always wanted, here." Clark said, softly. He was gratified to see a full on Lex smile, aimed directly at him.  
  
"Thanks, Clark. That means a lot, coming from you."   
  
Lex stifled a yawn. Martha noticed, and said "Clark, you still have homework to finish, and it looks like Lex has had a long and tiring day. Why don't you take him upstairs and get your room ready for bed?"  
  
"I don't want you guys up all night talking." Jonathan said. Obviously, he was avoiding thinking about what *else* they might be doing all night in Clark's bedroom.  
  
"OK, Mom, Dad, " Clark went and hugged them. "Thanks for letting Lex stay." He bounded up the stairs. "C'mon Lex."  
  
Clark found a toothbrush for Lex, and tossed down his extra pillows. He emptied a dresser drawer for him to put his clothes in. He was very surprised to see a well worn pair of jeans among Lex's linen and wool. It all looked a little crumpled from the hasty retreat.  
  
"Um, Lex?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You don't seem to have anything to sleep in."  
  
"That's because I usually sleep nude, Clark. I didn't think to dig up something suitable."  
  
Clark did *so* not need to know that. Not if he was going to get any actual sleep. Not if he was going to avoid embarrassing himself by moaning Lex's name while he did it.  
  
"Oh. Well, here," he said, digging through his dresser, and pulling out a pair of red plaid pajamas he'd outgrown a few years before. "Sorry they're kind of worn, but I don't think you'll fall out of them. They're really nice and soft, anyway." But not as soft as you, I bet. This, he did not say.  
  
He didn't expect to get that much sleep. But listening to Lex ease himself into slumber was a more peaceful transition for him than he would have believed. True, the little noises Lex made left Clark feeling protective, and not a little bit horny. But it was enough just to know Lex was right there.  
  
When he woke up, early the next morning, Lex was gone. A little panicked, he rushed downstairs to see what had happened.  
  
Martha pointed out the window. "He wanted to earn his keep by helping out with the chores."  
  
"Geez, Mom, you wouldn't let him stay anyway? He's my *friend*."  
  
"He insisted, son." Jonathan said, sounding altogether too amused, as he watched out the window as Lex toiled. "Clark, I know he's your friend, but remember, he was the one who investigated you a year ago."  
  
"Dad, I *trust* him." Clark was disappointed his father still felt this way, after all Lex had done to help their family.  
  
"I don't want you to let him out of your sight, while he's here. Don't forget what's in the storm cellar." Jonathan insisted.  
  
Clark just sighed, then rushed out to the barn, to see what kind of trouble Lex had gotten himself into, and how he could help.   
  
The sight of Lex, faded jeans, dirty shirt and all, took his breath away. He'd never seen his friend look so good. There was a smudge of clay on his face, sweat beading down the tendons on his neck, and darkening the well fitting gray shirt. He held the pitchfork with as much grace as his usual fencing foils and pool cues. It was all the more impressive because Lex didn't have super strength. Those were all muscles he'd *earned*.  
  
Clark wanted nothing more than to push him up against the barn wall, strip him, go down on his knees and give him an "apology." The kind of apology he'd imagined giving Lex ever since the whole incident with his father's shooting. He'd been kind of a jerk to Lex, but had ultimately just *said* he was sorry.  
  
"You seem to have things pretty well covered," he said, trying to take the bale of hay from Lex."  
  
"I'm fine, Clark. I want to prove I can earn my keep." Lex said, going on to tell Clark about the ranch he had worked on as a boy. Clark was always amused to hear about rich people doing manual labor as a vacation. Still, it sounded like a happy memory for Lex, and God knows he had few of those.  
  
  
  
He didn't see a lot of Lex the next day, being busy with school, and his new job, and Lex being busy outthinking his brother and father. They reconnected at dinner. Martha made chicken and dumplings, and Clark helped by making the salad. He noticed Lex wincing a little as he reached in the china cabinet for the plates. Hmm, he'd have to take care of that, later; if Lex would let him.  
  
They made it an early night, but lay awake talking, about parents, and brothers, and what it would be like to have different ones. They even talked about Lucas' notion of how different they each would be, having been raised in the other's family.   
  
"I'm glad you're not my brother, Clark, when it comes right down to it. I'd hate to have to hate you. I'm not meant to have *family* to love. I'm lucky to have you as my friend."  
  
That sounded a little weird, but Clark knew what he meant. "Yeah, I know," he said, settling down to sleep. " ' Night, Lex. I'm glad you're here."  
  
"Me, too. Goodnight."  
  
Clark woke up a little while later, and looked at the clock. Lex wasn't in his sleeping bag. Clark could hear him in the bathroom, and saw the faint glow from under the door. Lex was talking softly to himself, and in obvious pain.  
  
"God, Clark, the things I do for you. Ow, ow ow!"  
  
Clark padded softly to the bathroom. He didn't want to wake his folks, or startle Lex. He knocked quietly on the door.  
  
"Come in" Lex said. He was staring into the medicine cabinet, wearing just the pajama bottoms, which had slipped a little, to hang low on his hips.  
  
"What are you looking for, Lex?" Clark didn't think they had any good drugs. Not that he'd know a good drug if it bit him in the ass.   
  
"I think I overdid it with the hay." Lex sounded a bit embarrassed. "I was looking for some painkillers. Oh, and some tweezers. I've got splinters." He held out his hands. Clark could see the little pieces of barn wood imbedded in his sinewy fingers. Not for the first time, he was glad for his invulnerable skin.  
  
"Here, I'll take the splinters out. I'm good at that," he said, finding the tweezers, and wiping them with an alcohol swab. He was glad for an excuse to touch Lex's wonderful hands.  
  
"Thanks, Clark. You *are* good at this. You've got good hands. My mother used to do this for me when I got splinters from the models I used to make."  
  
Clark smiled at the thought of a young Lex, busy with enamel paint and airplane glue.   
  
"I don't suppose you have anything stronger than this Tylenol, do you?"   
  
"Sorry, Lex. Um, I could put some of my dad's liniment on you. That always helps him when he's sore."  
  
"If you're sure you don't mind…" Clark didn't mind. He didn't mind a whole lot.   
  
  
  
"I can't believe how much this hurts," Lex said. Clark knew this was an admission he would be the only one to hear. He didn't know if it was the physical pain from his overworked body -- despite Lex's need to prove himself a worthy house guest, mucking out stalls, and tossing hay bales strained different muscles than Lex was used to working. Fencing, and mending fences were entirely different activities.  
  
Certainly, dealing with his family's betrayal was an ache just as bad. For all his protests that he hated his father, Clark knew a part of Lex longed for the acceptance and love he, himself, took for granted. Instead, he was kicked out of his own home. Even his newfound brother (also stolen from him all those years ago) was lost to him.   
  
Admittedly, having met Lucas, Clark didn't think it was much of a loss, but the idea of a brother for Lex had been a welcome one. Lex deserved all the love he could get. Clark was determined to give it to him.  
  
He started with his warm hands on Lex's cool back. He hoped that Lex would know how he felt -- and not mind -- without him having to spell it out. He wasn't quite ready for verbal admissions yet.   
  
Hearing Lex's satisfied sigh, he capped the jar, and led him back into his bedroom.  
  
"You can't keep sleeping on that floor, Lex" he said, pulling back the comforter on his bed, and motioning for Lex to get in.   
  
"Are you sure?" Lex obviously wanted to comply.  
  
Clark just smiled at him. "My father said not to take my eyes off you," he said, curling up next to Lex on the small, rumpled bed, that until now had only held him and his dreams. "And I haven't. But I think my arms will do, just as well." 


End file.
